Deep beneath the Misty Mountains stood Barty Uggob. He was deep in thought among a swarming litter of goblins around him. Barty remarked at the naming rights violated by the Misty Mountains’ name alone, which was clearly stolen from other fiction. Yes, the mountains were cold and it's dungeons were in fact very deep and its caverns incredibly old, Yet the name the goblins of old had given the mountains was most likely a plagiary.
The goblins around him were in heated discussion trying to figure out a solution to very imminent needs, but Barty's head was elsewhere. The many green figures swarming and surging around his waist were yelling something about mass dismemberment. Yet Barty just couldn't shake the fact that he only just now realized that the name of this place he had been living for so many years is most certainly plagiarized from a very well known novel.
Barty assumed that a goblin or two walking on their way with great achievements in mind had stumbled upon a few loose pages of The Hobbit and rather than investigating further, assumed it to be from a history book. He thought that the goblins in the valley, and those here beneath the hills were much less menacing than those in The Hobbit. They took over old mines and they gnawed on rats and terrorized children sure, but they amount of harm they could cause was not by bow, arrow, and rusty sword, but usually by their own stupidity.
He stood up tall among the goblins. In a completely literal sense Barty was massive in comparison to any goblin around him in the damp dark tunnel.
“I think we just go for it” Barty said, casually blowing a wisp of blonde hair out of his eyes.
The mass of bickering goblins around him went quiet. They all looked up to whom they regarded as a very pale skinned ugly goblin, and then towards the elder goblin. In silence, fifty squat green oily goblins waited for a response to react to.
After hearing Barty's statement out of the corner of his large pointed ear, the eldest goblin broke from his conversation with another much smaller greenfolk to turn towards Barty. He stood in uninterrupted silence for the first time in a very long time. “Go for it?” The old creature slouched further and his mangled wooden staff drooped.
Many other Goblins chuckled at the obvious stance the elder goblin took on the matter, while not understanding Barty’s intentions in the slightest.
"Yeah I don't know, like what's the worst that could go wrong really?" Barty picked at the peeling piece of dead skin at the tip of his thumb, avoiding any judgement transferred between eye contact with the elder goblin.
Every goblin stare followed the conversation like a metronome. Unaware of a correct answer until they are told, they tried to see who they should agree with.
"Barty," The goblin sqeezed his brow with long gnarled fingers and let out a deep sigh. "Barty, four goblins were blown apart by a stray stick of explosives in the mines last night."
"Yeah," Barty stated very bluntly, "and we gotta fix em."
The goblins nodded hastily in agreement.
"Barty, we have four goblins worth of limbs sitting in a time stop rune." The old frail goblin waited for a response but there was none as Barty looked down towards his feet, which were so far away from his face. The goblin went on, "We have a stick-"
Barty interrupted, "Just use the healy stick to put all their limbs back on."
"BARTY!" The goblin yelled with his old cracking voice. Recomposing himself he began again, "Barty we don't know who's limbs are whose!"
A gasp came over the crowd, still packed wall to wall in the dark cave.
"If we just turn off the time stop rune and ask the goblins then-"
The decaying creature was at the end of his wit, "I don't think they will like that very much. You know what Barty? I am going to put this on you. Fix it." At that, he dropped the lumpy healy stick to the ground and hobbled off down a tiny cavern hallway.
Barty was now alone. With around forty goblins standing around him of course. Regardless Barty felt alone. He waded through the sea of green to pick up the staff, now more like a small cane in his massive pale worn hands. Ironically Barty felt very small, with all those little green eyes on him.
With the tiny staff in hand, he began to walk down the tunnels towards the room of
dismembered goblins.
Four goblin torsos lay on the craggy floor. A wavy field of prismatic color surrounded them, emanated by a circle of runes carved into the dusty stone floor. Their limbs were splayed about the ground right where the other miners had dumped their respective wheelbarrows. The goblins were frozen in time, a state of endless surprise and agony on their faces, remarking at their missing limbs.
Barty stood above them. Behind him, a tunnel full of onlooking goblins, stacked on one another, trying to peer in.
He put his bare foot onto the dirt beside the runes and quickly kicked them out of existence. In an instant the echoing screams resumed. Flailing torsos and limbs like twenty green slimy fish evicted from a swamp and thrown onto the dock. The screams ricochet around Barty's brain and stung at the walls of his ears.
Barty was overwhelmed.
A mangled goblin locked eyes with Barty. He took a deep breath and let out a curdling screech that rattled Barty’s bones. Another one of the sad creatures arched his back and flopped over becoming tangled in multiple other limbs.
Barty closed his eyes and began swinging the healy stick. It did its job. It mended one wound to another, sealing them together. In no time at all, the job was done.
Barty walked up to the goblin elders sitting in their small wooden thrones. “I fixed him.” Barty said.
The elder from before spoke first, he leaned forward with a question. “...Him?”
”Yes.” Barty responded, returning the healy stick to the long oak table in front of the elders.
The goblins around him were in heated discussion trying to figure out a solution to very imminent needs, but Barty's head was elsewhere. The many green figures swarming and surging around his waist were yelling something about mass dismemberment. Yet Barty just couldn't shake the fact that he only just now realized that the name of this place he had been living for so many years is most certainly plagiarized from a very well known novel.
Barty assumed that a goblin or two walking on their way with great achievements in mind had stumbled upon a few loose pages of The Hobbit and rather than investigating further, assumed it to be from a history book. He thought that the goblins in the valley, and those here beneath the hills were much less menacing than those in The Hobbit. They took over old mines and they gnawed on rats and terrorized children sure, but they amount of harm they could cause was not by bow, arrow, and rusty sword, but usually by their own stupidity.
He stood up tall among the goblins. In a completely literal sense Barty was massive in comparison to any goblin around him in the damp dark tunnel.
“I think we just go for it” Barty said, casually blowing a wisp of blonde hair out of his eyes.
The mass of bickering goblins around him went quiet. They all looked up to whom they regarded as a very pale skinned ugly goblin, and then towards the elder goblin. In silence, fifty squat green oily goblins waited for a response to react to.
After hearing Barty's statement out of the corner of his large pointed ear, the eldest goblin broke from his conversation with another much smaller greenfolk to turn towards Barty. He stood in uninterrupted silence for the first time in a very long time. “Go for it?” The old creature slouched further and his mangled wooden staff drooped.
Many other Goblins chuckled at the obvious stance the elder goblin took on the matter, while not understanding Barty’s intentions in the slightest.
"Yeah I don't know, like what's the worst that could go wrong really?" Barty picked at the peeling piece of dead skin at the tip of his thumb, avoiding any judgement transferred between eye contact with the elder goblin.
Every goblin stare followed the conversation like a metronome. Unaware of a correct answer until they are told, they tried to see who they should agree with.
"Barty," The goblin sqeezed his brow with long gnarled fingers and let out a deep sigh. "Barty, four goblins were blown apart by a stray stick of explosives in the mines last night."
"Yeah," Barty stated very bluntly, "and we gotta fix em."
The goblins nodded hastily in agreement.
"Barty, we have four goblins worth of limbs sitting in a time stop rune." The old frail goblin waited for a response but there was none as Barty looked down towards his feet, which were so far away from his face. The goblin went on, "We have a stick-"
Barty interrupted, "Just use the healy stick to put all their limbs back on."
"BARTY!" The goblin yelled with his old cracking voice. Recomposing himself he began again, "Barty we don't know who's limbs are whose!"
A gasp came over the crowd, still packed wall to wall in the dark cave.
"If we just turn off the time stop rune and ask the goblins then-"
The decaying creature was at the end of his wit, "I don't think they will like that very much. You know what Barty? I am going to put this on you. Fix it." At that, he dropped the lumpy healy stick to the ground and hobbled off down a tiny cavern hallway.
Barty was now alone. With around forty goblins standing around him of course. Regardless Barty felt alone. He waded through the sea of green to pick up the staff, now more like a small cane in his massive pale worn hands. Ironically Barty felt very small, with all those little green eyes on him.
With the tiny staff in hand, he began to walk down the tunnels towards the room of
dismembered goblins.
Four goblin torsos lay on the craggy floor. A wavy field of prismatic color surrounded them, emanated by a circle of runes carved into the dusty stone floor. Their limbs were splayed about the ground right where the other miners had dumped their respective wheelbarrows. The goblins were frozen in time, a state of endless surprise and agony on their faces, remarking at their missing limbs.
Barty stood above them. Behind him, a tunnel full of onlooking goblins, stacked on one another, trying to peer in.
He put his bare foot onto the dirt beside the runes and quickly kicked them out of existence. In an instant the echoing screams resumed. Flailing torsos and limbs like twenty green slimy fish evicted from a swamp and thrown onto the dock. The screams ricochet around Barty's brain and stung at the walls of his ears.
Barty was overwhelmed.
A mangled goblin locked eyes with Barty. He took a deep breath and let out a curdling screech that rattled Barty’s bones. Another one of the sad creatures arched his back and flopped over becoming tangled in multiple other limbs.
Barty closed his eyes and began swinging the healy stick. It did its job. It mended one wound to another, sealing them together. In no time at all, the job was done.
Barty walked up to the goblin elders sitting in their small wooden thrones. “I fixed him.” Barty said.
The elder from before spoke first, he leaned forward with a question. “...Him?”
”Yes.” Barty responded, returning the healy stick to the long oak table in front of the elders.
“Barty, Barty there were four wounded goblins.”
”Yes, yes there were four goblins.”